


Pet Project

by TimelessDreamer2



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: A Story, Episode Related, Episode: s03e06 Mors Praematura, First Kiss, First Time, I Posted It, M/M, Oh My God, Tiny bit of Angst, Why?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 08:29:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimelessDreamer2/pseuds/TimelessDreamer2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the explosion in Mors Praematura, John Reese wants to clear the air</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pet Project

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it is. My first actual attempt at writing a first time. 
> 
> I would not have posted this, if Cheyennesunrise, Blue_Finch, and Managerie hadn't convinced me to. 
> 
> I also owe them many thanks for putting up with my nervousness and for beta work. Fabulous ladies, right there.
> 
> Also.. Thank so SO much Managerie for the banner! It's just beautiful and my favorite color! :)

John could not sit still. He was still angry that Harold had gone into danger, still thinking over what might have happened if he had been just a few minutes late. He circled the table, settled in a chair and was back up again thirty seconds later. He made another loop around the table before dropping into a different chair, this time thinking about why Harold hadn’t called him. Did he really think that Shaw’s safety was more important than his own? Of course, he did. This was Harold, who always thought of everyone else first. Just once, once, John wished that Harold would worry more about himself.

John was up and moving before he stopped himself again. Pacing wasn’t going to help, he knew that. John needed to know why Harold, who was usually so paranoid that he triple checked his security before even going down the steps of the Library, would suddenly decided that he needed to be involved directly in every number.

By the time Harold finally came out of the bedroom, it was already past midnight, and only John was still up, Sloan having gone to sleep an hour ago.

Confused, Harold studied his partner, who was leaning against the wall, staring out the window. “Mr. Reese? What are you still doing awake? You’ll need your rest for tomorrow…” The edge of Harold’s mouth went down, the skin between his brows wrinkling slightly.

"What I really need is for you to explain a couple of things.” Pushing away from the wall, John crossed the room and caught Harold’s elbow, leading him to the large table and silently urging him to sit. Once Harold was settled, John perched on the table. “I only have few questions for you. Why are you insisting on working directly with the numbers lately?”

“I have noticed a disparity, Mr. Reese. I find that I dislike not being of more assistance to you while we work the numbers. Therefore, I decided that I should take a more active role.” Harold gave the answer readily enough, before standing and crossing the apartment to collect a bottle of water from the kitchen.

John followed along, leaning against the doorframe and blocking Harold from leaving. “Okay…” He could see Harold’s point there, especially considering all the times his partner’s worried voice had crossed the phone line. “Harold, why don’t we talk anymore?”

Sipping at the water, Harold frowned slightly. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. We talk nearly every day, Mr. Reese.”

“Not like we used to. Why is that Harold?” John’s voice was low, softer than normal.

John knew the exact second that his partner understood the question. Harold stiffened a bit, as he always did when he faced something he didn’t necessarily want to talk about. “Oh, frankly, I am surprised that you noticed. I felt that it could become a distraction for you. I would hate to be the cause of you getting injured.”

John frowned slightly before asking. “Is there any other reason?”

“Of course there is, however I do not feel comfortable discussing it.” Harold’s reply was swift and decisive.

“Last one, Harold.” John moved across the lavish space, pausing just inside Harold’s personal space. “Why are you angry at me?”

John considered the look that crossed his partner’s face to be absolutely priceless. It was, for once, mostly unguarded and John could easily see the surprise, astonishment and disbelief that flickered across in rapid succession.

A soft sound slipped out of Harold’s throat, almost a chuckle. “When have I ever been angry with you, Mr. Reese?” Harold’s tone was amused yet slightly challenging, like he dared John to name even one time.

“Well… it seems that way to me.” John stated softly. His eyes were fixed on Harold, studying every shift, every twitch of a hand, anything that might give something away. John was very good at what he did, and Harold was very good at hiding things. In fact, there were several times, that John was completely convinced that he was a better operative now, than he had been in the CIA, simply because he was constantly learning a new way to crack something, anything out of his partner.

Tonight… Well, John had to change something. At first, things had been fine, the numbers had mattered, and John was healing again. After Root, things changed. It was more relaxed, friendlier. There was Bear and early morning doughnuts, late night takeout, and strange movies that both ended up making fun of instead of actually watching.  There were fond jokes about Fusco, spying on Carter’s dates, and twice.. twice John had the honor of Harold smiling, honest real smiles.

Then, Root showed up again, and Harold, in an attempt to keep John out of the spotlight, left to handle things on his own. Since then… it was almost like all those months had never happened. Something had changed?, something that Harold was thinking about, something he wouldn’t tell John, and tonight, after almost losing his partner again, John had to change it. He wanted those things back.

“See, Harold, we both know how close it was tonight.” John’s statement was somber, a serious tone that Harold always listened to. “It was just a close a call as that roof. Your instinct saved us then.. mine saved you now… and I have to know, before the time comes where we aren’t so lucky.” He paused long enough to insure that Harold was listening before finishing. “What is it that made you pull away so much? If you aren’t angry, then what? What is so important to you that you’d risk everything that we built?”

Harold’s mouth was slightly open and his eyes were as wide as they got, whenever John or Shaw pulled out a gun that was almost larger than Bear. Twice his mouth moved silently, before he took another drink of the bottled water, turning in his awkward way to study the marbled counter. “I really would rather not say…”

Shifting slightly closer, John pressed just a bit, aware of how close his partner was to closing off completely. “I need to know, Harold.” When his partner clenched his jaw, John knew that Harold had cracked open, just a bit.

“ _She_ called **you** a _pet!_ ” Harold spoke like the words tasted bad. “I find it appalling that anyone could ever consider such a thing!” One hand jerked through the air, fueled by frustration and anger. “I have wronged you, John!”

John stared as Harold marched out of the small kitchen and into the large hall, pacing and gesturing with each word that he spoke. Only twice before had John seen that kind of emotion from Harold. Once it had been for a number, one of those from his board, one that he finally had a chance to help, the second time, it had been nothing but anger that bled through, but John had heard the conviction and spirit in every word that Harold said to Penn. As he followed Harold, all John could really do was blink as his partner simply exploded with words.

“I cannot believe she could even consider such a thing. Never have I considered this to be anything but a partnership. Even in the beginning,”

Harold raised a hand to forestall Reese from speaking, “Before you say anything John, yes, I did not wish to share my personal details, but that _**does not**_ mean that I would _ever_ consider myself higher than you.”

He lowered his arm and lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. “I honestly did not believe that we would survive an entire year. Then, when we did I started to hope, such a foolish thing… Hope, that somehow we could do this, save people and still manage to stay alive. When we survived that bomb vest, I thought, that there was very little we could not accomplish. I was such a fool.” Harold winced.

“I never considered that you were simply my _employee_. But, for her to dismiss everything that we have accomplished, everything that we have done, to label you a _**pet**_.” Again, the word was said with all the disdain that Harold possessed. “When she said that, I realized that I could not sit and let you risk everything any longer. It simply would not work if I continued to hide, because it would not be **equal**. So I _chose_ to help more, be more active, I _will_ _not let_ you be the only one at risk. You are far too dear to me to even consider **thinking** of doing this without you and…” Harold stopped, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. As he processed exactly what he had said, he shifted just a bit, glanced at John and then immediately closed his mouth tightly, trying to keep the rest of his words inside.

If John was being completely truthful, he loved it when Harold talked like that. It was raw honestly mixed with passion and a dedication that few were rarely allowed the pleasure of seeing. It was the actual words themselves that surprised him. “You didn’t…”

“But I did!” Harold, turned sharply, ignoring any pain that the movement brought him. “I allowed people to think that I cared nothing for you. That I was simply a heartless man that would not give your death a second thought.”

This time, he took a breath before continuing. “I _**let** you_ believe that, which is far worse, in my opinion. I never explained to you that I sincerely hoped that I will be the first one to die, because I cannot listen to your death. Or the many times I almost wished that you would simply leave, because then, at least you would be safe. I never took the time to explain that… after all those times that you never let me down, all those times when you did the impossible and saved someone, how much I appreciated it. I…” Harold’s voice was softer now, with less anger and more regret. “Never told you, thank you…John.”

It was hard to swallow around the odd lump in his throat. When John asked his question, he had never expected that Harold would give that kind of answer. When Harold had told him, that at some point they would both end up dead, John had been fine with that, he had been mostly dead inside anyway. Hearing now, that Harold wanted to die first, actually wanted John to choose to leave simply because it was safer, made John heart ache a bit. Then, there was that last part. “You don’t have to thank me… And I’ve let you down before.”

“Not when it counted.”

There was a long pause, before John spoke again. “I never thought that, Harold.” His tone was low and slightly rough. “You’ve made it clear to me at least, that we’re partners.”

He took two steps then paused, when Harold’s hand came up. “It doesn’t feel that way though, and if you honestly believe that you have actually managed to let me down at some point, then it is obvious that I haven’t.” It was possibly the most unclear sentence that Harold had ever said in his entire life. Letting his hand fall back down,

Harold pressed his lips tightly together. “I simply wish there was a clear way to explain it.” He took a breath, held it then slowly let it out. “You asked me earlier, why it is that we stopped talking. The truth is… I was too close.”

“Too close to what?”

“To you.” Harold’s answer was simple, like explaining that the sky was blue or that the North wind was cold. “I let you in too far, John. Closer than I have.. anyone really. That is not what you agreed to, and I felt…” The tone changed, becoming resigned. “That it was unfair to encourage it further, especially knowing that we could die. It would be… devastating if that were to happen. Especially considering that I wish I could.. no... That I _hoped_ we could have grown even closer.”

Harold hated the fact that he was admitting it, the overly private part of himself was panicking while the paranoid part was thinking up every possible way that John might take it and storm off in disgust. He hated hoping for things.

It took three steps to close the last of the space between them, and then John paused again, weighing each word before saying it. “Who’s to say that we didn’t, Harold?” He dropped his head a bit, indulging in a long intense stare with his partner, his eyes saying what he apparently couldn’t. He only waited until Harold’s eyes widened slightly, before he moved.

The first kiss was soft, to Harold’s jaw, the second, slightly longer and at the corner of his partner’s mouth, the third, well, it was the charm. Firm, warm and if John had known how perfect it felt, he would have done this on that rooftop, right after Harold had disarmed that bomb.

John shifted closer, a pleased sound coming from his throat. He gripped Harold gently around the waist, loose enough for Harold to move away if he wanted. Lifting his head just enough to break the contact, but no farther, John waited for Harold to decide, counting each second.

Harold froze at the touch of John’s mouth, unsure, but not unwilling. There was doubt yes, but also longing, and a hope that Harold had not admitted even to himself. The sound John made, low and deep, helped Harold relax, enjoy the moment, until John pulled away. One of his hands caught at John’s jacket, fingers curling into the lapel. Pale eyes met gray ones, looking for reassurance.Finally, Harold nodded.

John’s count was at forty seven when Harold nodded and he closed that small distance, returning his mouth to the kiss. Longer, with more pressure, John’s tongue slipping out to brush Harold’s thin lips. Another sound slipping out when his partner opened his mouth.

Large hands traveled up from Harold’s waist, under his suit jacket, to hold him closer. Harold didn’t feel trapped but protected, treasured, needed, something he hadn’t felt in so long. Their hips touched, chests pressed together. Harold’s right hand making an abstract pattern on John’s arm, the other still tightly gripping John’s jacket.

It wasn’t just one kiss, it was several. Long, slow, growing with every second, until they were pressed completely against one another, John effectively pinning the other man in place, until Harold made a sound. Soft, but decidedly of pain. John instantly pulled back, unable to hide the smile when the noise of pain turned into one of protest. His eyes traced Harold’s face, lingering for a moment on the slightly wet shine of his partner’s lips.

“That can’t be good for your neck, Harold…” John’s voice was sultry. “Why don’t we try a better angle?”  

Unwilling to let go, now that he had Harold where he wanted, John kept one arm firmly wrapped around his companion. He tugged Harold down the hall, leading them into one of the bedrooms, and firmly flicking the door’s lock behind them.

If John had thought that the pause would make Harold withdraw, he was pleasantly mistaken, because it took only seconds before Harold’s hands, so deft on a keyboard, were brushing over John’s shoulders, slipping off the standard jacket and rapidly undoing the tiny buttons of his white shirt. Smooth skin and rough scars were inspected, with a light, ghosting touch as carefully, and thoroughly as Harold examined information.

Ignoring the tightness of his pants, John tried to focus on the five tiny buttons of Harold’s vest. It took John considerably longer to get Harold out of his many layers, and he took some extra satisfaction at dumping the clothes in a nearby chair, before returning to Harold’s mouth.

By the time the two finally reached the bed, hands were everywhere, John was mouthing at Harold’s collarbone and Harold was absorbed in memorizing every line of John’s back with his hands. It was awkward, with Harold’s neck and hip, but Harold was smart and John was flexible, and it wasn’t long before they found a rhythm.

Unsurprisingly, Harold was first, a muffled whisper of John’s name the only sound he made. John was louder, a low groan as his forehead pressed into Harold’s shoulder.

When John had his breath back, he glanced to his left, enjoying the sight of his partner all ruffled. “Hey, Harold?”

Harold made a sound to show he was listening, but didn’t move otherwise.

“Who called me a pet?”

A small frown crossed Harold’s face. He was still rather unhappy with the thought that anyone could consider John that way. “Ah.. that would be Miss Groves.”

Root _had_ been the one to cause it. Somehow, John really wasn’t surprised. “When was that?” Shifting so that he was propped up, looking down at his partner.

Harold sighed. “Just before… I sent you the phone call. She mentioned how precious it was that you had followed me, and how she wanted a pet.” Harold reached up, and brushed a strand of John’s hair off of his face.

Harold touching anyone was rare, and John knew that, so he cherished it, brief as it was. “Guess it’s a good thing, neither of us really care what she thinks then.”


End file.
